obvious a fact that it must have presented itself to the most
rudimentary savage; and that it did thus occur to the early human mind
we have abundant evidence. The prehistoric graves of Europe give up a
greater quantity of necklaces to the antiquarian searcher than almost
any other article, with the exception of implements of war. These
necklaces are differently composed of beads of glass and of amber,
colored pebbles and small gold plaques, while the white teeth of various
animals and sea-shells seem to have been as general favorites with the
prehistoric as with the contemporary savage.
It is not our intention to give an account of the many types of
necklaces which have found favor in the eyes of humanity. To do so would
be quite beyond the scope of these stories. We propose on the contrary
to select but one--one especially notable amid the necklaces of the
past. We may mention that the first diamond necklace ever known in
Europe was one composed of rough stones which was given by Charles VII.
of France to Agnes Sorel. The fair lady's soft neck was so irritated by
the sharp corners of the necklace that she said it was her pillory
(_carcan_), hence the term _carcanet_ which means a diamond necklace.
The term fell into disuse about the time of the Revolution, and the
proper name in France for a string of diamonds at that period was
_rivière_. Nowadays they have restored the _carcanet_ and kept the
_rivière_ as well, both terms being in common use.
Of all the necklaces in all countries and all times, incomparably the
most famous was that one with which Marie Antoinette's name was so
unhappily associated. This trinket is still disputed about even in our
own times. It has a literature of its own and it is emphatically The
Necklace of History. We will endeavor to make clear its singular career
and ultimate fate.
In 1772, Louis XV. in the full tide of his infatuation for the worthless
Madame Dubarry determined to make her a present that should be unique.
It was to be a diamond necklace the like of which had never been seen
before and which was to cost two millions of livres. Accordingly in the
November of the same year he gave the order to his jewelers, Messrs.
Böhmer & Bassenge, who set about the job with glee. But it took both
time and money to get together such a lot of diamonds. Of time there
seemed enough, for the king was healthy and not old, and as for money
friends were ready to supply it in ample store upon such fair security
as the beauty and influence of Madame Dubarry. But Fate in the guise of
small-pox intervened and upset all these calculations. In May, 1774,
Louis XV. died and Louis XVI. reigned in his stead. By this time the
necklace was complete, and what it was in its completeness let the pen
of Carlyle tell us:
"A row of seventeen glorious diamonds as large almost as filberts
encircle not too tightly the neck a first time. Looser gracefully
fastened thrice to these a three-wreathed festoon and pendants
enough (simple pear-shaped multiple star-shaped or clustering
amorphous) encirle it, enwreathe it a second time. Loosest of all,
softly flowing round from behind in priceless catenary rush down
two broad threefold rows, seem to knot themselves round a very
queen of diamonds on the bosom, then rush on again separated as
if there were length in plenty. The very tassels of them were a
fortune for some men. And now lastly two other inexpressible
threefold rows also with their tassels will when the necklace is
on and clasped unite themselves behind into a doubly inexpressible
sixfold row, and so stream down together or asunder over the hind
neck--we may fancy like a lambent zodiacal or Aurora Borealis
fire."
Such being the doubly inexpressible description of this marvelous jewel
we are not surprised that an awful difficulty should now arise to
confound the luckless jewelers.
Who would buy it?
Not the young queen Marie Antoinette, who when offered it answered that
being on the eve of war with England they needed frigates more than
diamonds. Besides she had just bought, and not yet been able to pay for,
two expensive diamond ear-rings.
This disappointed jeweler traveled all through Europe offering his
trinket to the different queens and princesses, but none were rich
enough to tie four hundred thousand dollars in a glittering string
around their necks, so he returned to Paris with bankruptcy staring him
in the face.
[Illustration: "THE NECKLACE OF HISTORY."
(_Less than one fourth the natural size. By permission of Mr. Henry
Vizetelly_.)]
In 1781, when Marie Antoinette's first son was born, the jeweler very
nearly succeeded in selling it to Louis XVI., who wanted to make his
wife a fine present upon so auspicious an occasion. The Queen, however,
refused to touch the jewel when the king handed it to her as she lay in
bed, and being very weak and ill, so that the least thing excited her
dangerously, the doctor forbade mention to be made of this truly fatal
necklace. The little dauphin, happily for himself, died while still a
royal baby in his father's palace, and was succeeded by another boy less
fortunate in his destiny. The luckless jeweler, who became almost a
monomaniac on the subject of selling his necklace to Marie Antoinette,
used always to attend with the glittering jewel at each happy event, so
that the witty courtiers used to say whenever he appeared at Versailles:
"Oh! here's Böhmer. There must be another baby born!"
One day after about ten years of fruitless solicitation he threw himself
at the Queen's feet and declared that utter ruin was come upon him
through the necklace, that he would drown himself if she did not buy it,
and that his death would be upon her head. Her Majesty, much incensed,
replied that she had not ordered the necklace and was therefore not
bound to buy it, and ended by commanding him to leave her presence and
never more let her hear about the jewel again. She thought the matter
was finally ended. Poor Marie Antoinette! She was destined to be haunted
through life by those terrible diamonds and to be asked about them at
her trial and to be taunted with the theft of them by the mocking crowds
who surrounded her scaffold. Such being the state of the case in 1784,
we shall leave the Queen and the jeweler to follow the fortunes of two
other persons who were made famous and infamous by the necklace.
The first was Louis de Rohan, cardinal grand-almoner of France and a
prince in his own right. This person had been ambassador at Vienna where
he had ridiculed Maria Theresa, Marie Antoinette's mother, and afterward
a courtier at Versailles where he had criticised the Dauphiness, Marie
Antoinette herself. By these double deeds he was cordially detested by
the Queen who, like young people generally, was extreme in her likes and
dislikes and vehement in the expression of her sentiments. Since the
accession of Louis XVI. the cardinal had been in disgrace, and as royal
favor is as the breath of life to the nostrils of a courtier, he was
morbidly anxious to re-establish himself in the Queen's good graces. So
much for the cardinal.
The fourth and by far the most important character is yet to appear on
the stage. This is the Countess de la Motte. This individual was of the
vampire type of idle good-for-nothings, who lived at the French court,
and whose rapacity eventually caused such havoc in the most exalted
circles. Madame de la Motte pretended to royal descent through a natural
son of Henry II. Accordingly she added de Valois to her name, that being
the family name of the reigning house which immediately preceded the
Bourbons. She had been a roadside beggar when a child, but her great
plausibility of manner, which later on became so fatal, had won for her
the good graces of a lady about court who befriended her and had her
educated. She grew up, was married to the Count de la Motte, and
henceforward used all her talents to push the fortunes of her family. A
small pension only excited her appetite for more. She made the
acquaintance of the Cardinal de Rohan. The cardinal, a man of about
fifty years of age, seems to have been perfectly infatuated with the
countess who, though not beautiful, was witty and very taking in her
manners.
At length Madame de la Motte began to throw out hints about her
acquaintance with the Queen and to suggest that she might be the means
of restoring the cardinal to the royal favor. The cardinal believed
implicitly in her intimacy with Marie Antoinette and built high hopes
upon it, and not only the cardinal but many others likewise believed in
it, and besought the adventuress's favor at the hands of Her Majesty.
This may appear strange, seeing that the Queen and countess never
exchanged a word in their lives; but at court where nothing is ever
known exactly, but all things are possible, it is not easy to learn the
precise facts about anything. An adventuress in the days of Madame de
Maintenon is said to have made her fortune by walking through that
lady's open door into the empty drawing-room and appearing for a few
moments at the balcony. The courtiers saw her there, immediately
concluded that she must be in favor with the unacknowledged wife of
Louis XIV., and flocked about her with presents and flattery, hoping in
return to profit by her influence.
By an equally simple device Madame de la Motte obtained the reputation
of intimacy and influence with Marie Antoinette. She made the
acquaintance of the gate-keeper of the Trianon and was frequently seen
stealing away with ostentatious secrecy from the favorite haunt of the
Queen. It was enough. People believed in her favor, and she was a great
woman.
Then she took another step. She confided to the Cardinal de Rohan that
the Queen longed for the diamond necklace, but had not the money to buy
it, and feared to ask the King for it. Here was a chance for a courtier
in disgrace. The cardinal, acting upon the hint, offered to conduct the
negotiation about the necklace and to lend the Queen some of the money
for its purchase. The Queen apparently accepted his offer, and wrote to
him little gilt-edged missives mysteriously worded and of loving import.
The cardinal was exalted with joy. To be not only redeemed from
disgrace, but to be in possession of the haughty Queen's affections was
beyond his wildest hopes or aspirations.
Still acting upon the suggestions of the countess the cardinal bought
the necklace, and, for the satisfaction of the jewelers, drew up a
promissory note, which was intended to be submitted to Her Majesty and
was in fact returned, approved and signed, _Marie Antoinette de France_.
This letter came through the hands of Madame de la Motte in the same
mysterious fashion in which the correspondence had hitherto been
conducted. The cardinal thereupon brought the necklace to Madame de la
Motte's house at Versailles, delivered it over to the supposed lackeys
of the Queen, and went away rejoicing. Madame herself was feasted
sumptuously by the grateful jewelers, who were profuse in their thanks
for her aid. They even pressed her to accept a diamond ornament as a
slight token of their gratitude! Madame de la Motte dining with her
dupes, graciously receiving their thanks and magnanimously declining
their presents, was certainly a spectacle for gods and men.
The cardinal, not content with his _billets-deaux_ from the Queen, was
to be further gratified by a midnight interview with Her Majesty in the
gardens of the Trianon. A lady dressed in the simple shepherdess costume
affected by Marie Antoinette did indeed meet him in a dark-shadowed
alley of the garden, and as he was ecstatically pressing the hem of her
garment to his lips she did present to him a rose which he clasped to
his breast in speechless rapture. The lady of this scene and the Queen
of the cardinal's fancy was a common girl off the streets, who bore a
striking resemblance to Marie Antoinette. She was dressed up by the
clever countess and was told to act according to certain instructions,
but strange as it may seem she did not in the least suspect who it was
she was representing--so skillfully was it all arranged by the astute
Madame de la Motte who never let one tool know what another was doing
for fear of spoiling her web of iniquity. The cardinal was totally
ignorant of the imposture, and this although he knew the Queen well; but
the night was dark and Madame de la Motte executed a sudden surprise by
means of her husband, so that the pair were separated before the
superstitious Queen had occasion to use her voice, the sound of which
might have aroused the suspicions of even the blinded cardinal.
In possession of four hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds, Madame
de la Motte's next difficulty was to sell them. This appeared to be
impossible in Paris, for when she commissioned her friend Villette to
sell a dozen or so, he was at once arrested as a suspicious person, and
anxious inquiries were made as to whether there had been any diamond
robbery of late. But no--there had been nothing of the kind. Nobody
complained of having been robbed; court jewelers and cardinal were still
in the happy anticipation of coming favors. The man Villette was the
writer of the Queen's letters to the cardinal, he was also the lackey
who had taken charge of the necklace for the writer of those letters. He
was a very useful friend to Madame de la Motte until at last he turned
king's evidence and explained the whole fraud.
The Count de la Motte next proceeded to London and there sold several
hundreds of diamonds. Some stones he disposed of to Mr. Eliason the
dealer who in after years it will be remembered had the Blue diamond in
his possession. Upon the proceeds of these sales the la Mottes lived in
Oriental splendor both in Paris and at their country seat at
Bar-sur-Aube. This was in the spring of 1785, and until the first
installment, due in July, became payable they seemed to live on
absolutely oblivious of the danger ahead. "Those whom the gods wish to
destroy they first make mad," is the classic proverb which must be
resorted to in this case. On no other supposition can their remaining in
Paris be explained. Madame used diamonds for her pocket money and
tendered them for everything she wanted, exchanging one for a couple of
pots of pomade.
The first payment not having been made, and the Queen having never
addressed the cardinal in public nor ever worn the necklace, both
prelate and jeweler began to be surprised. The latter wrote to the Queen
an humble but mysterious letter expressive of his willingness to await
Her Majesty's convenience if she could not pay up punctually. Marie
Antoinette read the letter, but not understanding it, twisted it up into
a taper and lighted it at her candle. She then bade Madame Campan find
out what "madman Böhmer" wanted. Madame Campan saw the jeweler, heard
his explanation, told him the Queen never had had the necklace at all,
and that it was some dreadful mistake, and then in the greatest distress
besought her royal mistress to inquire carefully into the story, as she
greatly feared some scandal was being effected in the Queen's name.
Hearing a rumor of trouble Madame de la Motte visited the jewelers,
warned them to be on their guard (as she feared they were being imposed
upon!) and then inexplicably remained in Paris, instead of escaping
beyond the reach of the Bastile. The cardinal heard the rumor also; he
was disturbed, but relied though with dawning doubt upon these letters
from the Queen signed _Marie Antoinette de France_.
The fifteenth of August was and is a great day in all Catholic
countries. It is the feast of the Assumption, an occasion upon which
prelates don their most splendid robes and appear in all their dignity.
During the reign of Louis XVI. it was an especially honored day, being
besides a religious festival also the name day of the Queen. On this day
in 1785 at Versailles, Cardinal de Rohan in his purple and scarlet
vestments was suddenly placed under arrest, and thus humiliated was
conducted from the King's cabinet through the crowd of amazed courtiers
who thronged the Oeil de Boeuf into the guard-room. The scene in the
King's cabinet had been brief. The cardinal, summoned to the royal
presence, found Louis, Marie Antoinette, and the first Minister of State
awaiting him, all in evident agitation.
"You have lately bought a diamond necklace," said the King abruptly.
"What have you done with it?"
The cardinal glanced imploringly at the Queen who turned upon him eyes
blazing with anger.
"Sire, I have been deceived," cried the cardinal, becoming suddenly
pale, "I will pay for the necklace myself."
More angry questions from the King, more faltering confused answers from
the cardinal, and meanwhile the stern implacable face of the incensed
Queen turned towards him. The door opens, a captain of the guard
enters: "In the King's name follow me!" says the officer, and
grand-almoner of France, the cardinal-prince of Rohan is led off under
arrest.
Thus far the action of every one concerned is comprehensible enough, but
after this it becomes so extraordinary that it is no wonder if the
enemies of the Queen pretended there was a dark mystery behind which had
yet to be revealed. The unrelenting hatred of Marie Antoinette, which
made her demand the cardinal's head in vengeance for his audacity in
aiming at her affections, seems to have blinded her to every other
consideration but that of ruining her enemy. Madame de la Motte was, it
is true, arrested and thrown into the Bastile, but so bent were the
royal party upon destroying the cardinal that they held out hopes of
acquittal to the adventuress herself if she would accuse the cardinal.
Nay, more, they offered to pay for the hateful jewel if Böhmer would
give damaging evidence against the cardinal. Having thus completely put
themselves in the wrong the case came on for trial before a bench of
judges, who seem to have acted with perfect uprightness and
impartiality. And this, too, when public feeling was running very high
in Paris and the Reign of Terror only five years off.
All the perpetrators of the crime, except Madame de la Motte, confessed
to their share in it; so the whole series of gigantic cheats and
trickeries was exposed. The forger confessed to his forgery, and the
girl confessed to the scene she had acted in the gardens of the Trianon.
At length the cardinal had to admit to himself that the woman la Motte,
who had bewitched his senses to the detriment of his fair fame, had also
cheated his purse to an almost fabulous extent and had involved him in
the crime of high treason which in days of more absolute power would
undoubtedly have cost him his head. The cardinal was acquitted of the
capital crime, but was condemned to lose his post of grand-almoner, to
retire into the country during the King's pleasure, and to beg their
Majesties' most humble pardon--a sufficiently severe sentence one would
suppose for having been made a fool of by a designing woman. Marie
Antoinette heard of the cardinal's "acquittal," as she called it, with a
burst of tearful rage which transpires through her letters to her
sisters at the time. She laments in them the pass to which the world had
come when she could do nothing but weep over her wrongs and was
powerless to avenge them.
The rest of those concerned were variously dealt with. The Count de la
Motte was condemned to the galleys for life, but he had already escaped
to London, so the sentence did not much matter in his case. The forger
Villette was banished. In his case the decree of the court was carried
out in the old-fashioned way: he was led to the prison gate with a
halter round his neck, where the executioner gave him a loaf of bread
and a kick and bade him begone forever. The sentence on Madame de la
Motte was sufficiently rigorous. She was to be whipped at the cart's
tail, branded, and then imprisoned for life. The whipping was but
slightly administered, but a large V (_voleuse_-thief) was marked with a
red-hot iron on her shoulder: a fact which caused the jocose to say that
she was marked with her own royal initial, V standing for Valois as well
as for _voleuse_.
After a couple of years in prison the authorities connived at her
escape, in pursuance it was believed of orders from Versailles. Marie
Antoinette's unpopularity was, if possible, increased by the affair of
the necklace, and the cardinal became a hero for a short time until
others more conspicuous arose to overshadow him. Even yet, however, the
unhappy necklace continued to work for evil towards the Queen. Safe in
England Madame de la Motte wrote her Memoirs, which are nothing but a
mass of libels and a tissue of falsehood all directed against the Queen.
For private political purposes it suited the Duke of Orleans to spread
them as much as possible, for the great aim of his life was to discredit
the Queen.
Madame de la Motte died miserably in London from the effects of a jump
from a second story window which she took to escape from bailiffs who
were arresting her for debt. All the money she obtained from the diamond
necklace was not able to save her from want and misery. She was only
thirty-four years old at the time of her death. The Count de la Motte
lived on into the reign of Charles X. and begging to the last also died
in want. The Cardinal de Rohan became an émigré after his brief hour of
Parisian popularity and died in exile. The jewelers became bankrupt and
the firm sank into oblivion.
And Marie Antoinette?
Ah well, she had nothing to say to the direful necklace. She never
probably so much as touched it with a finger-tip during the whole course
of her life, but she was taxed with its theft on her way to the
scaffold, and a generation ago her memory was again loaded with the
crime by M. Louis Blanc. Marie Antoinette has had every possible and
impossible crime cast upon her by writers who sought in her person to
degrade the idea of a monarchy, but slowly history is removing this dirt
from the garment of her reputation. She was silly and headstrong in her
youth and did harm by her thoughtlessness, but she was neither so silly
nor so headstrong as many of the queens, her predecessors, nor did she
do one tithe of the mischief that some of them attempted. She chanced,
however, upon troublous times, and therefore everything she did was
reckoned a crime, as also many things which she did not do, such as the
stealing of the Diamond Necklace.
XII.
THE TARA BROOCH AND THE SHRINE OF ST. PATRICK'S BELL.
The two jewels which it is now our intention to describe differ
essentially from all those with which we have made acquaintance. They
are not enriched with stones of any great value, but the setting of such
pebbles as have been used is of a kind to render them unique. The most
careful illustration conveys but a poor idea of the splendor and
delicacy of the metal-work which literally covers these masterpieces of
the goldsmith's art. We have nowadays a firm and in the main a
well-founded conviction of our superiority in all things over the men of
primitive ages. But in the presence of the Tara Brooch the most skillful
jeweler of modern times is obliged to admit his inferiority. With all
our skill it is impossible to imitate the delicacy of the workmanship
and the wonderful grace and variety of the design displayed upon this
truly royal gem.
Its history is of the meagerest. It was found in the month of August,
1850, on the strand at Drogheda, washed up from the deep by some
especially generous tide, and left there for two little boys to pick up.
The mother of the children carried their find to a dealer in old iron,
but he refused to buy so small and insignificant an object. She then
tried a watchmaker, who gave her eighteen pence (thirty six cents) for
the brooch. The watchmaker cleaned it up and then beheld what he
conceived to be a jewel of silver covered with gold filagree. He
thereupon proceeded to Dublin and sold it to Messrs. Waterhouse, the
jewelers, for twelve pounds (sixty dollars), which it must be admitted
was a very fair profit upon his original outlay.
Messrs. Waterhouse exhibited far and wide this jewel which was by them
called the Royal Tara Brooch--a name which serves well enough to
distinguish it from other brooches, but which cannot be said to have any
historical appropriateness. Whatever truth there may be in the legendary
magnificence of "Tara's Halls," there is no reason to suppose that this
brooch was ever displayed within its walls. These walls, whatever their
nature, were represented by green mounds and grassy rath-circles, such
as may be seen to-day, when the so-called Tara Brooch left the hands of
the craftsman who made it.